Consequences From Another Harry
by ClayCelloFire
Summary: Harry as we know him switches places with a Harry who lives in an alternate universe where Neville is the Boy Who Lived. Meanwhile, the other Harry searches for Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione. Set in DH, compliant to a degree. Alternate Universe.
1. One Harry's Mistake

**Disclaimer:** This counts for the entire story. I do not own Harry Potter or any of the concepts or characters involved.

**Author's Note:** I know, I know I should be writing my other story... I haven't updated it in ages... but this one was just kicking around in my head begging to be let out. So here it is. Hopefully, I will update this one more frequently. Someday I'll work on the other one.

* * *

**One Harry's Mistake**

Harry Potter, of 23 Godric's Hollow, awoke feeling a sense of immense accomplishment. It was July 31st and he had finally turned seventeen years old, was finally able to do magic outside of school. _It's really a wonder I made it this far_, he thought to himself from the depths of his feather mattress,_ after all times I've ended up in the Hospital Wing. Well, that's what being the school's best Seeker will do to you…_He lazily recounted the dozens of, in the words of his mother, suicidal and idiotic Quidditch stunts he had performed over the years. He had never missed a match and still remained undefeated. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table which read 9:17, he decided it was finally time to grace the world with his presence, and pulled back the covers, hopping out of bed.

After showering in the adjoining bathroom, which he shared with his two younger siblings, and dressing, he was about to mosey downstairs when he reminded himself that he could now do magic. Grinning, he checked his hair one last time, to make sure it was sufficiently messy, and Apparated directly into the dining room.

"Sleeping Beauty has finally joined the land of the living!" were the only words of warning Harry received before being tackled by two children and three grown men acting like children. It was going to be a fantastic day, he could tell.

***

Despite the war and Voldemort, Harry's seventeenth birthday party was going to be a huge event. He had been anticipating it for nearly his entire life and knew that his parents would never allow it to be a failure. The house was sparkling, the food was steaming, the drinks poured, the music blaring, the guests arriving… nothing could go wrong. And nothing did go wrong. Except, as he realized the next afternoon when he awoke, drinking nine and a half bottles of firewhiskey in a span of less than five hours was not the brightest idea.

Harry opened his eyes at approximately three in the afternoon on August first. The first words out of his mouth were extremely unintelligible, but if anyone had been in his bedroom, which no one besides he was, the meaning would have gotten across: his head felt as if it were about to explode. He vomited promptly.

Feeling not a millimeter closer to comfort, Harry tried to generate an excuse to give his parents, but soon realized that a splitting headache would not allow for any such brainstorming. _After all the times I've charmed my way out of detention, you'd think I'd be able to think of something… they definitely won't fall for food poisoning or being pranked by Sirius or hitting my head or having a disease or… or… or…_ The king of evading punishment seemed to have used up all his luck. There was simply no way he could convince them that he did not have a hangover and that he had not drunk and unreasonable amount of alcoholic beverage. Harry resigned himself to a fate of grounding for the rest of the summer holidays and lurched out of bed, deciding he might as well see if either of his parents would help him get rid of his headache. Which neither of them probably would, but anything was better than sitting in bed feeling awful. This did not prove to be true when he staggered across his room and tripped over a pile of gifts, and landing facedown on what he soon recognized as his savior.

It was a brightly colored book with the moving picture of a dashing young man on its cover, titled _The 237 Most Handy Spells Any Young Wizard Could Want_. Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville had given it to him the night before. Of course, Neville was not actually present, since being the Boy Who Lived, especially in such dangerous times, required high security. Harry had been highly perplexed by the gift ("Bloody hell, why'd you get me a _book_?!" had been his slightly drunken response), but had eaten his words after glancing at the first few pages.

Harry flipped through the index, looking for a spell to rid him of his tell-tale symptoms. Finally, between _Hair Hysteria _and_ Hygiene Hints_, he found _Hangover Help_. He turned to page eighty-four and briefly looked over the wand movement before rummaging around for his wand. Perhaps it was the headache, perhaps his nervousness at his misbehavior being discovered, but either way, Harry neglected to review the pronunciation of the spell before rummaging around for his wand, a mistake he came to bitterly rue. After finding the misplaced eleven-inch, holly and phoenix feather object, he pointed it at his head, waved it in a complicated fashion, and murmured, "_Corporis Absendo._"

Nothing happened.

The headache remained, worse if anything. Harry's frustration level rose and he turned back to page eighty-four, checking pronunciation and discovering that the spell was really _Crapula Abscendo_. He recast it and at long last felt relief he sought. Harry once again Apparated downstairs, explaining to his rather disbelieving parents that he had just been very, very tired. Luckily, Lily and James asked no questions, and Harry proceeded to dine on leftover sandwiches before hurrying outside to try his newly repaired Firebolt. It had been extensively injured in the last Quidditch game of the year by Slytherins who could not contain their anger at losing to Gryffindor, and especially to its cocky Seeker, for the umpteenth time.

After flying for a few hours, in an attempt to burn off any unwanted calories from the previous evening's festivities and therefore retain attractiveness, Harry's headache began to return with gusto. This time it felt akin to the time he had taken a Bludger to the head during a Slytherin game, and kept playing, until making the choice to jump off his broom to get the Snitch, which he had succeeded in doing, but also ended up landing head-first on the ground. (He had remained in the Hospital Wing for weeks, but at least they had won.) As the pain began to build and became unbearable, Harry also had an instinctual and unexplainable feeling that sleep would be the only remedy. He landed, dismounted, put his broom away, and rushed inside, up the stairs, and too his room, forgetting entirely that he could have just Apparated. Harry collapsed onto his feather mattress, falling instantly asleep.

* * *

Harry Potter, no longer of 4 Privet Drive, was having an absolutely wretched day. By no means was it the worst day of his life, but it was up there with the day he had accidentally blown up Aunt Marge (although that part had been fun) and had subsequently thought he would be sent to Azkaban. On top of Bill and Fleur's wedding having been rudely interrupted, the unexplainable encounter with Death Eaters in the Muggle world, the necessity of the painful return to 12 Grimmauld Place, the terrifying spells they came across on entry, and the worry over what was going on at the Burrow, Harry had a splitting headache. His scar was burning… burning more fiercely than it ever had.

The pain in his scar was reaching a peak, stabbing at him as it had done many times before. Faintly he heard Hermione and Ron discussing where to sleep, but could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.

"Bathroom," he muttered, and he left the room as fast as he could without running.

He barely made it: bolting the door behind him with trembling hands, he grasped his pounding head and fell to the floor, then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that did not belong to him…

Once the vision had passed he found himself spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. But the pain was not gone. In fact, it had worsened, and Harry felt a sort of headache he had never felt before. He was a headache veteran and had experienced just about every headache in the book, due to all of the dangerous situations he had been in, but had never experienced a headache just like this. It was a sort of extreme, all-consuming torture which he felt throughout his entire head, not just near his scar. He hardly managed to pull himself off the floor, and did not even hear Hermione knocking to ask if he needed his toothbrush.

Harry pulled the door open, gasped something about exhaustion from the day's events, and stumbled into the drawing room. He barely succeeded in getting into his sleeping bag before losing consciousness.

* * *

**More Author's Note:** The spells are completely bogus. I looked up some Latin words on a free online translator. "_Corporis Absendo_" translates roughly as "leave body" and "_Crapula Absendo_" as "drunkenness go away." I quoted a bit from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ in the second part, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at 12 Grimmauld Place. I don't plan on doing so again in the story.  
Reviews would be fantastic... please?


	2. Surprises All Around

**Author's Note: **Can you believe it? I actually updated a week later! Hopefully this is the beginning of a new trend...

**Chapter Two:**

_Surprises All Around_

Waking up on August second was the single most shocking event that Harry, recently of 23 Godric's Hollow, had ever been put through. He knew even before opening his eyes that something was off; there was a musty smell, the surface he slept on was rather hard, and he could hear at least two other people breathing slowly and deeply. Nothing could have prepared him for what sight met his eyes when his curiosity finally got the better of him.

He was wrapped in a sleeping bag in an ancient and very moth-bitten room. It seemed to be some sort drawing room, with a shadowy ceiling and a cobwebbed chandelier. Morning daylight filtered through the heavy curtains which muffled dirty widows. There were a few ornate but dusty chairs around a less-than-polished coffee table and a couch, missing cushions, facing a blackened fireplace.

What was even more surprising were the two sleeping figures next to him. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger! Hermione lay on sofa cushions, which explained their absence from the couch in front of the fireplace. _It looks like they fell asleep holding hands… Ron and Hermione? Since when have they felt this way? All they ever do is fight… I don't think I've ever heard them exchange a pleasant word. _

Before he had much more time to speculate, the realization that he certainly was not in his bed at home hit him just like the Bludger years before. "Bloody hell! Bloody, bloody, bloody hell! Where in the name of Merlin's saggy trousers am I?" he could not help but exclaim.

"Wuzzgoingon…" Ron garbled blearily, his eyes opening as Hermione's did as well.

"Harry? Are you alright? What's happened?" she cried in panic while sending spells to assess the situation in all directions.

Harry just stared dumbly.

"Harry? Harry? Hello? Anybody home?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's face.

"W-w-where am I?" Harry managed to choke out of constricting vocal cords which refused to function properly.

Hermione and Ron exchanged worried glances. "You're not joking, are you," said Hermione sorrowfully. "We're at Grimmauld Place, Harry. How much do you remember?"

"What kind of joke is this? Because it isn't very funny! Ron, I don't know why you'd ever pull something like this, but you've had your fun, so stop it now! When did you become friends with _her_, Ron? I thought you hated her. And Hermione, I don't know how you got involved, or why you would ever sleep near Ron, but I never thought you'd be one to play a prank like this. I've had enough, so tell me the truth! This doesn't look a thing like the headquarters, so don't even pretend like it is!"

Ron and Hermione's eyes nearly fell out of their heads and their jaws dropped so low that Harry wondered if there was something more to the situation that he was missing. Perhaps he was suffering from amnesia and a few years had gone by and he was hiding in this strange place with these strange people because of the war. They did look older than they had last time he saw them… but it seemed to be more of a mental aging than a physical aging.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes focused and her mouth shut into a thin, angry line as she drew her wand. The next thing Harry knew he had been Stunned, tied with rope, gagged, and his wand had left his pajama shirt pocket.

"Do you reckon he's been cursed?" Ron speculated.

"I have no idea. Not the faintest idea."

"Or is he a Death Eater in disguise?"

"I don't know, Ron."

"Maybe he's finally cracked from all the pressure and stress of being the one and only Boy Who Lived?"

"…"

"You know, I think we're just dreaming. Let's go back to sleep and see if he's better when we wake up."

"That, Ronald Bilius Weasley, is one of the worst ideas I've ever heard. Now be quiet so I can think," she snapped.

"Sorry, just trying to help…"

Harry watched their antics in complete bemusement. Cursed? Death Eater? The Boy Who Lived? Ron's guesses had become more and more far-fetched. Although Harry had frequently been jealous of Neville for his fame and renown, he had never _really_ wanted that fate. No parents, constant duty and failure, the immense task of killing You-Know-Who eternally looming, it certainly was not all fun and games. Besides, Harry was plenty popular due to his Quidditch skill and all-around charming nature. Ron's hypothesis that this was all just a dream was probably the most correct. At least, that was what Harry hoped.

"Ron, there's nothing else to do but question him under Veritaserum," Hermione sighed at length.

"Do you have any?"

"No, Ron, we'll have to wait and work through and entire month of brewing," she said sarcastically. "Of course I have some! That's why I suggested it!"

"There's no need to be so touchy. I was just asking." Ron replied, hurt.

"You're right, I'm sorry. This is just really upsetting…" Hermione burst into tears and buried her head in Ron's shoulder.

"Shh, shhh. It'll be okay," he murmured in an attempt at a soothing tone, patting her back awkwardly while looking equally concerned.

Once she had regained composure, Hermione gave Ron a weak smile and he squeezed her hand. She delved into a small beaded bag, searching for quite a few minutes before pulling out a small phial of clear liquid.

"If you don't mind me asking… where _did_ you get that?" Ron cautiously inquired.

"It was with Mad-Eye's Polyjuice supply that I took."

"Oh. _Oh!_ You took Mad-Eye's Polyjuice supply?"

"Yes. I thought it might come in handy. Well, anyway, where should we interrogate him?"

"Here's just fine. Let's set him in that chair."

As their conversation progressed, Harry became more and more nervous. _They're probably Death Eaters! Why didn't I think of that sooner?! It's too late to do anything now… at least I don't know too many of the Order's secrets. Maybe I can try to fight him when he grabs me. Or I could just refuse to drink it…_

His worried wonderings were cut short as Ron picked him up, despite his efforts to resist, removed his gag, and shoved the odorless, tasteless substance down his throat. All thought was then suspended as the Veritaserum took over.

"Well, no point in waiting around. What is your name?" Hermione began.

"Harry James Potter."

"I thought Veritaserum couldn't be tricked!" Ron interjected fearfully.

"It can't, Ron, that's the scary part," Hermione whispered.

"If we keep asking questions it might make more sense. We should start at the beginning."

"Ron, that's actually a good idea!"

"Always the tone of surprise…"

"So, 'Harry,' when were you born?"

"July 31, 1980."

"Who are your parents, your family?"

"Mother: Lily Potter, née Evans. Father: James Potter. Sister: Elizabeth Rose Potter. Brother: William Oberon Potter."

Hermione and Ron stared at each other, flabbergasted.

"When were your siblings born?" Ron inquired.

"Liza: April 17, 1982. Will: November 2, 1984."

"So Voldemort never killed James and Lily, and you aren't the Boy Who Lived?"

"No. Voldemort killed Frank and Alice Longbottom. Neville Longbottom is the Boy Who Lived."

"How does he cope with that?" asked Hermione, who could not picture the bumbling, hard-working, cheerful Neville in such a crucial role.

"He has a very difficult time. Neville was sorted into Gryffindor and is a good friend of mine, along with Ron, Seamus, and Dean. But he has little confidence and is not very good at magic, although he tries very hard. He can hardly perform _Accio_ successfully. He can sometimes be rather bitter and feels pressure at all sides. He nearly died in fifth year when You-Know-Who returned."

Ron and Hermione stared at each other again. _Fifth_ year was when Voldemort had returned? James and Lily were alive? Neville was the Chosen One? It was nearly too much to handle.

"What do you mean, 'fifth year when You-Know-Who returned'?"

"In May of fifth year, A Death Eater by the name of Barty Crouch Junior put undiluted bubotuber puss on Hagrid's face, so that he would be unable to teach that day, and Professor Grubby-Plank would have to substitute. He then interrogated Grubby-Plank, killed her, put her hair in a Polyjuice potion, and came to class pretending to be her. It was actually a fairly interesting lesson; he brought in horklumps and we fed them to gnomes… After the lesson, he took Neville aside, and told him that there was a plant that looked like a Screechsnap somewhere on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but he wasn't quite sure if it was what it looked like, and since Neville was so good a Herbology, could he come look at it? I still don't know why Neville went with him; I guess the praise just made him loose his sense of caution.

"I was behind a tree near the Whomping Willow with Ron and Seamus, looking at the Marauder's Map, trying to find Malfoy and his goons so we could prank them. I noticed Neville leaving the grounds with Barty Crouch and was very suspicious, since Dad is an Auror, and I knew that both the Crouches were dead, one having died in Azkaban and the other in a very mysterious splinching accident not two years before. I also knew that Neville's scar had been hurting, and the theories about why it hurt. So I used the two-way mirror Dad gave me and told him what had happened. He went ballistic, and told me to meet him in Dumbledore's office, where he would immediately Floo. I did so. Dumbledore had the accompanying knowledge that Snape's Dark Mark had just burned, and he too became very distressed.

"Dumbledore contacted Kingsley and some other Aurors and charged into the forest, breaking up You-Know-Who's mock duel with Neville and causing all the Death Eaters to panic and flee. They almost took Neville with them, but Dumbledore was too quick. He even managed to capture Macnair. No one died, but Neville was in the Hospital Wing for weeks; he fought bravely and was hit with many Dark curses (with his magical track record, it's a wonder he survived at all!). Fudge was skeptical about the entire event, but there was too much evidence, so he had to believe Dumbledore, and even followed most of his advice."

Harry had been slowly regaining control of his speech, and finally was himself again. Memory of what he had just told Ron and Hermione came back and he was aghast. _I've just told Death Eaters dressed up as students all about how weak Neville is! Now You-Know-Who will have no fear and will launch a full-blown attack! What have I done?!_ He cast his eyes down in shame, blinking back tears which threatened to overflow, as he listened his capturers discuss his origin.

"He's coming out of it, 'Mione," Ron said, feeling a need to point out the obvious.

"Yes, Ron, dear, I noticed."

"I don't think he's our Harry."

"The evidence does point away from him being who we thought he was."

"Yeah, so where'd he come from? And where's Harry?"

"I don't know, Ron. That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Well, I don't think he's a Death Eater."

"He doesn't even seem to be from this universe."

"Maybe he's a lunatic who just thinks he's Harry Potter?"

"That wouldn't explain why he looks just like Harry. I think I read about something like this in _Unused and Forgotten Enchantments of the Millennium_. It's a fantastic book full of the most interesting spells. I was reading it in Fifth Year to prepare for the O.W.L.'s, although none of them turned up on the exams. But it was still a very worthwhile read. There was an entire chapter devoted to charms for sealing envelopes, a good sixty or so pages on how to conjure multi-colored toads in differing sizes, a subtopic on how to grow gargantuan vegetables, a spell which allows the user to be able to talk to cows and other bovines—"

"Look, Hermione, could you get to the point?"

"Patience, Ronald! As I was about to say, there was a brief chapter in the section on time travel about parallel universes."

"What in the name of Merlin's most saggy pants do you mean by 'parallel universes'?"

"Well, when reading it I thought it was fairly bogus. Just more mumbo jumbo that Trelawney might spit out. But this fellow we have here seems to confirm what the book said."

"What did it say?"

"If you stopped interrupting me I might be able to tell you!"

"If you'd just hurry up with that then I wouldn't have to interrupt!"

Hermione took a deep breath and decided to move on. Now was not the time for a row. "As I was saying, there are infinitely many parallel universes out there. Worlds where history took a different turn. They have the same people and wars and countries up until a certain date where they diverge. This Harry seems to have come from a universe which split when Voldemort decided to go after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters."

"So how did he get here and where did our Harry go?"

"There was a spell mentioned… _Corporis_… _Corporis_…" Hermione couldn't quite recall what it was and looked at Ron apologetically.

"_Corporis Absendo_," said Harry, startling both of them. As they had come up with conjectures about where he came from, things had started to fall into place. This unknown Ron and Hermione didn't _really_ seem to be Death Eaters, and he _had_ said that spell by mistake. "I accidentally said it when I was trying to get rid of a hangover."

The absurdity of the situation caused Ron to burst out laughing; he was soon accompanied by Hermione and Harry.

**More Author's Note:** If I made any spelling/ grammar mistakes or factual errors, please enlighten me. The next chapter will probably be about our Harry in the other universe- if you have any suggestions for what should happen, do tell. And...  
_Please Review!_


	3. At Least I Have A Dictionary

**Author's Note:** Here's the next chapter. I know the title is kind of odd, do any of you get it? You might after reading... well, enjoy!

**Chapter Three:**

_It's All Greek To Me, But At Least I have a Dictionary_

(Alternate Universe)

The instant consciousness began to return, Harry was positive that something had happened. He forced himself to calm down and assessed the situation as best he could while pretending to still be asleep. _I'm lying on something soft (feather down, if I'm not mistaken) with some sort of light blanket on top of me. I'm wearing what seems to be some sort of tight robe and am wearing shoes… how odd. The general vicinity smells fresh, clean, except for that slight overture of rather dehydrated vomit. I smell like I desperately need a shower. But I feel fine, my head doesn't hurt at all, I haven't been injured. There is no sound of anyone else breathing, so Ron and Hermione can't be here, unless they're dead._ He felt a sharp stab of worry at that thought, but continued his sensory analysis._ That also means that no one is watching me. There's a breeze on my face. All together, it's very doubtful that I'm still in Grimmauld Place… there's no point in putting it off any longer. _With that, he opened his eyes a fraction.

The room was full of light which was pouring through three bright windows. _Definitely not Grimmauld Place._ The walls were a light sky blue, with red and gold trim around the windows and on the door. Eye-watering Gryffindor banners, posters of bands he had never heard of, the Chudley Cannons, Montrose Magpies (_who are _they_?_), and the Irish National Team, pictures of many different people including some who strongly resembled Remus, Sirius, his parents, the Weasleys, and even himself, and an overwhelming number of other items obscured the walls. Deciding it was safe enough to sit up and get a better view, Harry did so, finding a pair of glasses (which weren't his, they were much more fashionable and sleek, but after careful inspection, he put them on, and the prescription was just right) on a small golden bedside table with a clock which read 6:34.

There was a desk littered with papers, books, broken quills and a multitude of odds and ends. Shelves contained more books, action figures, a variety of what looked like Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes prototypes, and an assortment of magical objects and other knickknacks. The closet was part way open, revealing a handsome selection of dress robes put away without much care. An overly-large mirror perched on top of a similarly disorderly dresser. The vibrant door was shut with a mound of presents precariously placed in front of it, a half-open book not far away. A disgustingly chartreuse puddle of dried upchuck marred the otherwise maroon carpet.

Harry gazed around himself, utterly nonplussed. _Where am I? How did I get here? _He continued to look about, his eyes finally falling on a familiar object which made him feel a bit more secure: his wand, left between the pages of the book lying on the floor not far from the presents. He cautiously and quietly got off the bed (crimson bedspread with sky-blue sheets and pillow) and gingerly picked it up. Warmth spread through his fingers and he felt a sense of relief which was rudely interrupted by further inspection of the wand. _There are greasy fingerprints all over it, and a small scratch!_ he thought with indignation. _It's not quite my wand. Just like all these people on the walls aren't quite my Sirius or Remus or my parents, they're all so young… so happy… and who's the woman the man who looks like my Godfather is kissing in this one? _

Hit by a disturbing and very alarming thought, he rushed over to the oversized mirror and stared at himself. He was wearing extremely bright, stiff with dried sweat, slightly stained and rather worn, a bit too small, crimson Quidditch robes with gold lettering which read _Potter._ His hair was longer than he had ever let it grow, sticking out in all directions and falling nearly to his shoulders. His face was surprisingly young looking, but it did not look younger in years, but in experience. No worry lines crossed the forehead. _The forehead! Merlin! My scar is gone!_ Harry stared at himself. _This isn't me… it can't be… what… what…_After a moment more of shock, his survival instincts which had saved him so many times kicked in, and he was sending protective spells and assessing spells in all directions.

The area was not cursed, jinxed, or under any incantation he could think of, and neither was his person. _Homenum revelio _was the only spell that produced any results; there were people below him, downstairs, presumably. Figuring that he was safe enough for now, he decided to go through the room in mindful detail and try to see if he could figure out where he was and what had happened.

***

An hour and approximately twelve minutes later saw Harry crouched by the desk, muttering under his breath and waving his wand, in a room that was almost unrecognizably tidy. Nearly everything was in some order, since he had thought the best way to keep track of what he had already searched was to clean up the mess along the way. He had made his way around the room and now had arrived at the desk. It was giving him a bit of trouble: the drawer simply refused to open. He had tried _Alohomora_ and every other unlocking spell and charm he knew without success. In frustration he had even tried to break it open. It was not cursed or jinxed, either.

Despite his fruitless attempts, the no longer scar-headed youth was not about to give up. He had a very mysterious feeling that something of utmost importance was within, probably since it was the only object which refused to comply with his investigation, but nevertheless the strange feeling remained, and he would be darned if he didn't find out what was inside. He finally took a deep breath and stepped back to contemplate. _It doesn't want blood, I already tried that. For some unknown and very exasperating reason I can't seem to be able to speak Parseltongue, so I won't be able to try that. Perhaps there is simply a password?_

"Please let me in," he tried. The drawer remained shut. "Didn't think that would work. Hmmm. Quidditch. Quaffle. Snitch. Bludger. Nimbus 2000. Nimbus 2001?" Thinking of Dumbledore, he adopted a different angle. "Lemon drops. Sugar quills. Chocolate Frog. Acid Pops. Chocoballs. Ice Mice. Fudge Flies. Pepper Imps," having exhausted his knowledge of sweets under the current stress, he moved on to random alliteration. "Happy hippogriffs. Harmonious harpsichord. Gargling gargoyle. Sweltering swan. Dusty dungbomb," he continued for about fifteen minutes without any positive outcome before finally growling, "Merlin! How am I supposed to know?"

To his surprise, the drawer squeaked open, hitting Harry (who had stood up in his anger and had been repeatedly poking a crimson tile in the patterned rim of the desk) squarely in the gut. He staggered backward before eagerly jumping forward and looking inside.

Somewhat to his disappointment, the only thing he found was a very thick red leather bound book, complete with decorative gilded lettering which was slightly obscured by a Self-Inking quill lying across its title, but upon removing the obstruction read _Harry James Potter_. He immediately picked it up, completely forgetting the wise words of Mad-Eyed Moody, but luckily no harm befell him, even as he opened it to the first page.

_August 31, 1991_

_Today Mom gave me this journal. I asked her why she was giving me a diary, but she said I could call it what I wanted to but it was just a book to keep my thoughts in. She also said it might help me feel less nervous about going to Hogwarts tomorrow if I wrote about what concerns me. I've been pretty scared (don't tell Dad or Padfoot or Moony!) about going for quite a while since it will be so different from what I'm used to and I'll really miss all my family. Don't get me wrong, I'm really psyched to go. I've been counting down the days and teasing Liza and Will about not being able to go yet. But I'm still worried, what if no one likes me, or if I turn out to be a Squib?_

_We (us guys minus Will, that is) went to Diagon Ally last week and took Neville with us since Dad decided the poor kid really needed to have some fun without his Gran always hovering like she does. Everywhere we went people tried to come pose with Neville for a picture, or asked for his autograph, or just introduced themselves and tried to shake his hand. Neville was so embarrassed! Padfoot said enough was enough and told everybody to bugger off. I'm sure glad I'm not the Boy Who Lived! _

_I got a really cool owl I named Hedwig. She's snowy white and pretty fluffy. Neville said his Gran told him to get a toad, but Moony said that would be embarrassing, so we got him an owl, too. I forget what he named it but it had a nice tawny coloring. Ollivander's was just plain weird. Neville's Gran had said he would have had to use his dad's, but it was destroyed when his dad was killed, so he would have to use his dead grandfather's wand, but Mom and Dad talked her into letting him get one of his own. It took ages for a wand to choose him, but he finally settled with a twelve inch cherry with unicorn hair. Mine took even longer. I ended up with an eleven inch holly with phoenix feather. Ollivander looked really confused and said that it was very curious but wouldn't say anything more. Dad stayed behind to talk to him. _

_Before Mom gave me this, she and Dad told me they needed to talk to me about something really important. They said when I was a baby, a really evil wizard called Voldemort (I already knew about him, I'm not that dumb) found out about a baby that was supposed to be able to beat him. The problem was that two babies fit the description: Neville and me. He decided to kill Neville, but Neville's parents died to save him, and for some strange reason Neville lived. Of course I already knew the part about Neville, but I didn't know the part about me. Another thing I didn't know was that some of Voldemort's followers came to our house to hurt my parents on the same night. They only managed to get in because our Secret Keeper, Pettigrew, betrayed us. Padfoot went by to check on him in his hiding place and saw that he was gone, realized what had happened, came to our house, contacted Moony and a bunch of others, and saved Mom and Dad. If they hadn't made it in time, Mom and Dad might not have lived. They also told me that the reason why Ollivander kept saying curious was that I got a wand with a phoenix feather from a phoenix that only gave one other feather, and that feather was to the wand which chose Voldemort. They said it didn't mean I was evil, but I'm still worried. What if I end up in Slytherin?_

_Anyway, it's getting kinda late and I should probably go to sleep before Dad comes in to tell me to go to sleep and sees this. I'd die of embarrassment. Mom put a charm on it so that it would only open for me and even charmed my desk so it will only open if I touch the crimson tile with my pointer finger. Magic is so cool. _

Harry stared at the text, confused to an extreme. The boy who had written this was not him, he was sure of that. This boy had grown up with both his parents. And with Sirius and Remus. And maybe even siblings, it seemed. This boy had never known what it felt like to be truly hungry, had never known what it felt like to think everyone in the world hated you. He had never felt truly alone. But somehow, this unknown boy was connected to Harry; this Harry knew for sure. _This isn't a trick by Death Eaters, since it's highly unlikely that they would have been able to break into Grimmauld Place. I don't think I've been hit by any unknown spells recently. I don't know why or how it happened, but I really think that I'm in a different world. Maybe a different dimension… this is so weird. _Slowly, a smile began to form on his rather dejected visage. _But while I'm here, at least until I can figure out how to get back, I may as well make the most of it. With constant vigilance, of course, _he added as an afterthought and tribute to the wise Auror now dead, added to the list of people who had died to save him. He proceeded to read and skim the rest of the journal, which accounted, in detail, the adventures and misadventures of one very different Harry Potter throughout his past six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

What Harry found out about the boy he was planning on impersonating and about the place he was in astounded him. This other Harry was not preoccupied by worries about Voldemort and spent his time much the way his father before him had, goofing off and still getting excellent marks. He was good friends with nearly everyone since he did not have the bullying streak that had plagued his father, but that did not mean he didn't do a healthy amount of annoying Slytherins, just as any young Gryffindor should. He was also quite a prankster, having teamed up with the Weasley twins on many an occasion to terrorize, in a humorous and harmless way, the school. He never became a part of a "Golden Trio" but did become fast friends with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. He had been dating Ginny and had had about four other girlfriends.

The most shocking element was that Voldemort had returned a year later, for reasons the other Harry did not know, and that Fudge and the Ministry had somehow been forced to acknowledge that fact from the beginning, so they followed most of Dumbledore's suggestions. The war against the Death Eaters was going much better with fewer casualties and a more hopeful chance of victory for the light.

_Mom, Dad, Sirius, Dumbledore… all alive! A chance to get to know them, without war and Voldemort getting so much in the way. A chance to live without worry. Another chance!_ Only a small section of his heart felt any pain at the thought of not being with his friends. The idea of a different destiny was very appealing.

***

Harry glanced at the bedside clock which now read 8:52. Not knowing what time the other Harry usually got up, he decided it was probably a good time to get a move on, and showered in an adjoining bathroom, which was also decorated with Gryffindor colors, before dressing in some comfortable emerald colored robes and peeking his head out of the bedroom door. There was a small hallway with three doors, and a stairwell. The door next to the bedroom he had found himself in was a deep ocean blue covered with lighter blue musical notes. The door across the hallway was pinkish red with many signs such as "Enter on pain of Bat Bogey Hex." The other door was a bland cream. Harry quietly tiptoed down the stairs, following his nose through a sort of living room which no one was in into a dining room and kitchen combination where a delightful spread of breakfast food covered a round table.

Four people were seated around this round table. Two of these people Harry had longed to meet for his entire life: James and Lily, animatedly talking, eating, and gesticulating. They had hardly aged a day since their wedding, although James' hair line was beginning to recede a bit, and Lily had gained a few smile lines. James' hair, nonetheless, still stuck up in the back, and he was still the spitting image of his son. Lily's eyes were just like he son's, just the way everyone had always told him they would be. _That's… that's really them… right there._ He felt a deep tugging in his heart, pulling him towards them. He wanted to run at them and cry and be hugged and tell them exactly what had happened. But he knew he must not blow cover, especially on the off chance that the entire ordeal was just a trap set by Death Eaters.

Harry did not recognize the other two at the table, but it was not hard to make a guess. _If I look just like my dad, then she looks just like Mom. My sister…no, not _my_ sister, the other Harry's sister. I can't get it confused. She's Elizabeth, I think, but called Liza, if the journal is right. _Harry gazed at the girl who had Lily's flaming hair, and a mixture of the facial features of her parents, with a nose and mouth that definitely came from her mother. Her eyes were a mystery; clear, piercing blue. She looked like she was a year or so younger than Harry, going into fifth or sixth year. The boy at the table was the youngest. He had Lily's heart-shaped face and James' hazel eyes, but beyond that, must have received the recessive genes of the family, since he did not look much like either. He was paler, with a few freckles, and had lighter brown hair that was nearly strawberry blond, although, like all Potter males in the family, it did have that annoying chunck that stuck up in the back. Unlike all the Potter males, he did not wear glasses. _William. Will. The little brother, about to start his first year at Hogwarts. _

Having lurked for long enough, Harry tiptoed back out of the dining room, into the living room, up the stairs, and came down this time more loudly, rushing, and burst into their calm breakfast.

"Finally decided that Apparating everywhere is really obnoxious?" the girl who wasn't his sister inquired impishly.

"Nah… I'm just switching it up on you, y'know, keeping you on your toes. Variety is the spice of life," he tried to reply without seeming concerned or very, very nervous. _Seeing your dead parents and the siblings you would have had if they hadn't died is very disconcerting. _

"Claim what you want to claim but I know the truth…" she continued.

"I must say, I am quite surprised you arose at such an early hour. Up and awake by nine o'clock in the morning? What is the world coming to?" the man who wasn't _really_ his father joked, pulling a chair back for Harry to sit in.

Unable to think of a witty response, Harry merely smiled and sat down, accepting the sausage Will extended to him.

"Feeling any better, Harry? You ran right to bed last night with a 'bloody effing splitting headache' if I recall correctly. I went to check on you, see if you wanted to pop over to St. Mungo's, but you were fast asleep. I tried to wake you," Lily explained.

_Merlin, my mum is even prettier than she is in the pictures in real life. _Realizing that everyone was waiting for his response and he was still staring at her in awe, he choked, "I'm feeling a lot better, thanks, M-mom."

"Okay, goober," she replied.

"Harry, if there's ever anything you want to talk to us about," James added.

"N-n-no. I'm fine."

"More eggs, anybody?" Will gallantly offered in what seemed to be an attempt to get the attention off the boy he thought was his older brother.

"Sure," Harry took the orange bowl and served himself.

"When are we going to Diagon Ally?" Will asked his parents excitedly, breaking the quiet munching the room had fallen into.

"Next Saturday, I was thinking," informed his mother.

"I need to get a new set of dress robes, for Laurel's party," Liza told her mother, "it's flower themed. Isn't that lame? I can't stand pink. I don't even really want to go."

"Well, not all flowers are pink, so there won't be any issue," Lily responded soothingly.

Harry watched as the family (that really wasn't his) interacted, lapping it up. The little squabbles, the spilled maple syrup, all of it was so precious.

Will and Liza finished and got up, but as Harry moved to follow, James put a hand on his arm. "We need to discuss something, Harry."

_Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no! I can't get in trouble for something I didn't do! And how am I supposed to know what the other Harry did?_ "I didn't do it. I swear."

"Just like me when I was your age," James smiled. "You're not in trouble, although we should probably talk to you about the large amount of firewhiskey that went missing the night of your party."

Harry became increasingly nervous and his eyebrows shot up. "I… I…"

"It's okay, Harry. That's not what we wanted to talk about. We want to talk about the Order of the Phoenix," Lily interrupted.

"You know about the war. I'm not sure how much you know about it, probably more than we've told you, since you're quite the eavesdropper. It's going about as well as can be expected, but every wand is needed," James continued.

"And we want to know if you'll join yours. You're of age now, Harry, and you've shown yourself to be an intelligent, strong, young man."

"M-me? Of course!" he stammered.

"There's a meeting tomorrow, at Grimmauld Place. You'll have to talk to Dumbledore first, of course, but I'm sure he'll approve," said James.

"And you won't be dropping out of school or anything, either. You need to get your education; the more you know, the more useful you'll be. However, if Hogwarts closes, or the war reaches a crucial peak, you will be enlisted full time," Lily clarified.

_A real member of the Order… wow. This will be interesting. Maybe I can tell Dumbledore what's happened to me and he can help me figure it out. _He was suddenly hit with a rather nerve-wracking thought. _This means that everyone, _everyone_, will be there. Ron and Hermione and others maybe, too. Merlin. I have a lot of reading to do to be able to deal with that!_

"Who else is coming?" he asked, hiding his anxiousness with excitement.

"I'm not entirely positive. The Weasleys, as protective as they are, may not have Ron join yet. I'm sure Neville will be there. Who's that brilliant witch in your year… Granger, I think?" was James' reply.

"Yeah, Hermione Granger."

"Someone said something about her being invited. Owen Brown's daughter might be there. Hmm. The Abbott's daughter, Amelia Bones' niece, Ernest Macmillan's boy, but I think that may be it. However, you never know who else Dumbledore has up his sleeve."

"He sure is full of tricks," Lily agreed.

_But not enough tricks to save himself_, Harry silently added. The meeting the next day promised to be interesting. Very interesting.

**Who wants to be the first reviewer? Hint, hint...**


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